Bitter Cold Chill
by Crazy For Bakura
Summary: AU. Malik Ishtar: Gang leader. Confronted with an angel from the past, thoughts of revenge fill him and he sets out to find the ultimate vengeance through one innocent girl. MalikxShizuka
1. Prologue

**This is, as warned in the summary, AU. If you're a newb, that means Alternate Universe. This basically means I wanted to make characters OOC and have them all wherever I wanted them so I could exploit them. And if you disagree with OOC-ness…keep reading and I'll _make_ you agree with it. No guarantees. If it still makes you retch after reading this, then just skip over that button at the bottom and go find something that actually interests you.**

**:) All right, here we go! My second attempt at Malik/Shizuka!**

**Warning: Course language and suggestive themes. Read on with caution.**

**Bitter Cold Chill- Prologue**

Malik took one last drag from the cigarette before smashing its remains in the copper-plated tray beside him. He stood, dust swirling around his feet.

"I expect it by midnight." He growled out, his eyes narrowing.

"Of course."

Malik left the man there and returned to the city streets, ignoring the looks of caution and fear tossed his way by passersby and other hoodlums. He had no time to wonder what was possibly going through their minds when they saw him, and he simply didn't give a damn. The streets were his. They were just lucky he was letting them walk on them.

"Malik!" A voice hissed from the shadowed entrance of an alley.

Malik carelessly looked around before slipping into the alleyway. The young boy facing him held up a golden chain, its untarnished features contrasting with the boy's filthy hands.

"I found this."

Malik stuck another cigarette up to his lips and searched through his pockets for a lighter. The boy, aiming to please, quickly whipped one out of his own pocket to offer to Malik. Malik eyed it warily, but jutted his chin out for the boy to light the end of his cigarette. Once the familiar haze of nicotine and smoke settled in his lungs, he took the chain from the boy.

"Good work."

The boy's face lit up at the compliment and he watched eagerly as Malik pocketed the chain.

"Malik? Can I…can I go to the shelter and get some food?"

Malik blinked, his face open and blank.

"You mean you haven't been?"

He shook his head quickly.

"I wanted to get that to you first."

Malik considered the boy carefully, picking apart each of his features, from his ratty blonde hair to his shaded brown eyes.

"How old are you, kid?"

"Fifteen."

Malik pulled the cigarette from his lips and clenched his jaw tightly.

"No need for a shelter. Come with me. My sister'll clean you up and feed you."

"S-sister?" The boy stuttered, stumbling after Malik as he left the alley.

Malik didn't bother answering and led the boy to his sister's house, hoping to high heaven that she was still awake. When he rang the doorbell, it only took a second for the door to open. His sister, Isis, blinked down at him, wondering if it was safe for her to communicate with him.

"Can we come in?"

"That depends. By 'we' do you mean you and one other person, or you and your gang?"

"One other person who needs your love and care. Not to mention a good meal."

"You're going soft, Malik." Isis murmured.

Malik snorted and brushed past her inside the house. The boy met Isis' gaze and gulped, wary under the older woman's ice blue gaze.

"Come on in, honey. I'll make you something to eat."

* * *

"His name's Ryou."

Malik looked up from where he was examining the golden chain. Isis stood with her arms crossed over her chest and her hip leaned against the doorway.

"I guess you got him cleaned up and fed."

"Yes. That poor boy. What'd you do to his family to make him so reverent of you?"

Malik chuckled and put the chain away. He stood, towering over Isis by three or four inches, and ran stiff fingers through his ragged blonde hair.

"You know that's not my game, Isis."

"No. Coercing kids into petty theft and drug dealing is your game. Am I right?"

His eyes hardened as he stared down at her in disbelief.

"You honestly think I _want_ kids in my gang? They're too young and too naïve to really be a part of everything."

"Uh-huh. Put out that damn cigarette before you send your brother into anaphylactic shock."

"Don't change the subject," he muttered, snuffing out his cigarette, "I'm serious about the kids. I've only seen that kid once before. I didn't even know how old he was."

"Well, he might as well build a shrine to you. The kid's practically in love with you. Not sure why. There's not much to love about you anymore."

"What? You don't like the guns and the motorcycles anymore?"

"I don't like _you_ anymore, Malik Ishtar. What happened to my little brother? The one that used to make me flower wreaths for my hair?"

He shrugged offhandedly and reached for his cigarettes subconsciously. Isis grabbed his wrist and fixed him with a hard glare.

"Your brother, Malik. Don't you dare light up in this house."

He sucked in a breath through his teeth, hissing softly.

"I'm sorry, Isis, but…"

"Don't tell me my little brother 'grew up'. When I picture 'grown up', I think of a college degree and a nice suit to wear to work. Look at you, Malik. Where are you living this week? The whorehouse down the road? Or some druggie's cardboard box?"

Malik tensed. He'd heard this speech before. In fact, he'd heard it just two weeks before when he'd arrived with another teenaged boy. In all honesty, he didn't know why all those kids were trying to work for him. They were kind of annoying and a liability to his reputation as the top gang leader in town. He'd always had a soft spot for the younger wanna-be gangsters, though only his sister knew that about him.

"I'm staying with an acquaintance."

Isis scoffed and rolled her eyes towards the ceiling.

"Of course. An _acquaintance_. Because my brother can't afford to have friends."

He smirked, knowing that what he was going to say next would probably get him kicked out of the house.

"Now you're catching on!"

Isis shot him a very flat stare and pointed towards the front door.

"Out. I'll keep Ryou over night and make sure he gets a good breakfast."

Malik, in order to annoy her further, placed a chaste kiss on her cheek before stepping around her.

"I'll be around tomorrow morning to talk to the kid. Don't let him go until I get here."

"Good night, Malik."

"What, no 'I love you'?"

"What's the point in lying?"

"Harsh words. No, no. I'll be fine. No need to console me in my obvious grief."

She gave him a rather rude hand gesture, which made him grin.

"Good night, Isis."

She didn't respond and he let himself out. A cigarette was hanging from his lips the second the bitter night air touched his skin.

* * *

**Well, that's it for now! More information about Malik's past, and about why Ryou is idolizing him, will be explained in further chapters! Tell me what you think so far!**

**Also, this fic is very lightly based on the songs 'Luckie St.' by Cartel and 'Webs We Weave' by Escape the Fate. You'll find out why later. :) Although the many references to smoking is an obvious sign.**

**CFB**


	2. Grab This Statement

**It's my birthday, but I'm a giving person and decided to give ya'll the first _real_ chapter. :) Plus, my coach cancelled practice to go skiing in the mountains (go figure, it rained on my birthday), so I have extra time.**

**Here it is!**

**Disclaimer: I do NOT own YGO, or any other copyrighted items mentioned in this story. However, I PWN the plotline. Ahaha!**

**Bitter Cold Chill- Grab This Statement**

_Malik's wide, innocent eyes gave way to his anticipation as they followed the mail man's path to the mailbox. His knuckles whitened as he clenched the window sill with a death grip and his heart jumped into his throat as he caught a flash of an intricate emblem upon a white enveloped package. Waiting for only a second, restraining his entire being, Malik rushed for the front door. His hand trembled as he pulled the mail from the white box outside the house. Taking a deep breath, he carried the mail inside and gingerly placed it on the kitchen counter._

_With his pulse in his ears, he reached out and grabbed the package._

"_Princeton," he breathed. Inside, a war was raging. He wanted to tear open the package to see what it said _and_ leave it be and let it collect dust, all at the same time._

_Giving into his own excitement, he ripped the edge of the package off, careful not to mar the orange and black symbol on the front. A paper slid out gracefully to the counter and he had to swallow back the lump in his throat before reading the first words._

"_Mr. Malik Ishtar…we are pleased…"_

_That was as far as he got. He didn't need to go any further than that to know what the rest of the letter said._

_He blindly reached out for the nearest phone. When his fingers brushed against the silver plastic, he seized up the phone and dialed in a number without looking. His gaze was permanently transfixed upon the letter._

_He held the phone to his ear, waiting impatiently for someone to answer._

"_Hello? Malik? Is something wrong?" Rishid's voice sounded._

"_Rishid, I just got the mail."_

_Rishid was quiet for a moment, pondering what had made his younger brother snap. It wasn't a usual occurrence for Malik to call him and tell him he'd gotten the mail. Malik _always_ got the mail. So what?_

_Then it hit him._

"_Did you get it? Did they accept you?"_

"_Yes! I got in!"_

"_That's fantastic, Malik! Have you told Isis yet?"_

"_No, I think I'll break it over dinner. Promise to keep it a secret?"_

"_Of course, little brother. I'm so proud of you."_

_Malik's smile was wide and exuberant. He'd been working for three years to maintain the perfect GPA, receive record test scores on the SAT, and hold a steady job long enough to earn enough money for the first term of college tuition. And it finally paid off. He was moving to the United States to go to his dream college—one that only allowed 1000 students in each year._

_A loud clanging brought his attention back to the phone. He heard Rishid swear under his breath and his brow furrowed in concern._

"_Rishid? What's going on?"_

"_Hold on, I think…"_

_The phone clattered to the ground, Malik having dropped it in shock at the sound of gun fire. Trembling, he picked up the phone again and pressed it to his ear._

"_Rishid…?"_

_Faint mumblings came from the other end of the line and a metallic scraping sound._

"_It isn't him. Damn it…"_

"_Well, he's not dead yet. Leave him."_

"_Wait, his phone…"_

"_We have an hour. Leave the phone. Take his wallet."_

_Malik set the phone aside, tears running numbly down his cheeks. 'He isn't dead yet,' is what the guy had said. Yet._

_He grabbed the phone again and dialed in the number for the police._

"_I think my brother was shot," he whispered to the woman who answered his call, terror gripping him and turning his insides to ice.

* * *

_

Malik slid the keys from the ignition of his motorcycle and stared at his sister's house through squinted eyes. Vicious winds ripped through the trees, sending autumn leaves into flight, flurrying around the sidewalk and well manicured lawns.

It was early. _Really_ early. The sun had only just risen and, thanks to Daylight Saving Time, that put him at 6 in the morning.

Somewhere down the street, a car door slammed and the roaring of an engine followed soon afterwards. Otherwise, all was quiet. The neighborhood was still asleep, ignorant of the rest of the lethargic town and the secrets it held within its streets.

Not stopping to wonder if anyone in Isis' house was awake yet, Malik walked up to the front door and pushed the white button next to it. From inside he could hear the tune of Pachelbel's Canon ringing. He leaned against the doorframe and waited, tapping his fingers impatiently against his leg. After hearing no sound from inside, he sighed and pulled a switchblade from his pocket. It took him a minute to pick the lock and once he was inside, the warmth from the heater enveloped him. He made himself at home, brewing a pot of coffee and finding something to snack on.

It was about seven when Isis entered the living room, dressed in a classy business suit, to find Malik on the couch watching an infomercial.

"Good morning," he murmured, lifting his eyes from the screen to look at her.

"Same to you. How'd you get in?"

"Picked the lock. You should really get some kind of security system installed."

Isis snorted and rolled her eyes.

"Like _you're_ one to talk. Besides, I _have_ a security system installed. It broke down two days ago."

The corners of his lips quirked up in an overconfident smirk.

"Lucky me."

Isis cut her eyes at him and pointed in the general direction of the stairs.

"He's in your old room, asleep. I could ask you not to wake him up yet, but I know you're a busy man," she simpered mockingly, earning herself a sharp look from her little brother.

Malik propped his feet up on the coffee table and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Nah, there's no one worth killing today. And I only send out my fleet of teenaged minions after the sun goes down. I've got some time to waste."

A sigh escaped her, followed by a chuckle.

"You have a fleet now?"

He shrugged, his gaze drawn back to the television where a model was showing how the pictured workout machine functioned.

"It was either that or a harem…" he trailed, tilting his head to the side as the model began flexing and using the exercise machine.

Her eyebrows flew up in intrigue. If anything, seven years on the streets had quickened his wit. He was now a completely different man than when he'd started.

"Good morning," said a soft voice behind her. She jumped out of her skin and turned to Ryou with her hand over her rapidly beating heart.

"Ryou, you scared me!"

At the mentioning of Ryou's name, Malik wrenched his attention from the TV and stared at Ryou incredulously. Where layers of dirt had been washed off, Ryou's pale skin and the strangely shaped bruises on his arms were revealed. His hair, which he had originally thought to be dirty blonde, was actually so blonde that it was almost white. Malik's mouth fell open in shock and he completely missed the derogatory look Isis sent him.

"Damn!"

"Malik Ishtar, you will not swear under my roof."

"Don't be a hypocrite, Isis. And get to work. I need to talk with Ryou."

"Not before he gets a good breakfast. Since you apparently have so much time to waste, I think you'll be able to allow him ten minutes to eat."

Malik's attention was automatically drawn back to the scantily clothed model on TV.

"Fine by me."

"Are you watching an _infomercial_?" Ryou questioned.

Malik nodded in reply and left his mouth hanging open, entranced by the model's legs. Isis shot a glance upwards, as if looking to heaven, and placed her hand on Ryou's shoulder.

"Let's get you some breakfast. Malik will be a while."

"I heard that," Malik grumbled, though he silently agreed with her.

* * *

"Malik, can you give your brother his medication? I have to leave for work!" 

Malik glanced up, a scowl clearly etched on his visage. Isis stuck her head inside the dining room where the two boys were sitting and watched Malik imploringly.

"Well?"

"Where are they?"

"In his room. He should be coherent enough to tell you what he needs."

Ryou shuddered at the intensity of Malik's arctic gaze. He was quite sure that Malik's look could kill, and that that was exactly what Malik was planning on doing.

"Thanks. Stay safe, Ryou."

"Thank you, Miss Ishtar."

Isis flashed a smile at him and left the room humming. Malik waited for the sound of the front door closing before turning back to Ryou.

"Where do you live?"

"A few blocks away in those old apartments."

"I'll take you over there as soon as we're done."

"No! Can't I stay here? Your sister likes me, right? She wouldn't mind, would she?"

"She can't watch you _and_ our brother _and_ go to work. You're going to have to go home."

"I can pay rent! _Please_, Malik, don't make me go home!" Ryou pleaded, his brown eyes brimming with tears.

"How do you expect to pay rent?"

"By being in your gang. I'll make enough money—"

"No."

"No? Why?"

"I don't want or need you in the gang. You're too young."

"But I _have_ to. I can learn to defend myself. I'll pull my own weight. I'll do everything you tell me to. Please?"

Malik stood abruptly and shook his head.

"No. I don't want you in the gang."

"But I _can't_ go home."

"Hey, you wanna prove to me that you're mature enough to be in a gang, you face up to your fears and go home. You haven't seen _half_ the shit I have. When you have, you can come back."

Ryou narrowed his eyes and stood up to confront Malik face to face.

"Fine then, I'll go home. But you don't know what shit I _have_ seen." Malik cocked an eyebrow at him and stayed quiet, letting Ryou say his peace. "I want to be in the gang for a reason. Why can't you just give me a chance?"

"Because you're too young. You're right, I don't know what you've been through and I don't care to know. But even _I_ was older than you when I joined the gang."

"I think you're making a mistake."

"I don't, and my opinion is the one that matters. Go home and forget about the gang. You've still got two more years of school left and a lot of opportunities ahead of you. Just forget about the Millenniums."

Ryou shook his head adamantly, his blonde locks swinging into his eyes. He impetuously brushed them away and broke eye contact with Malik. Malik was strongly reminded of himself, just seven years before when he'd been eager to join the Millenniums. He'd also been told no by his elders, but he'd managed to prove his worth.

"I just want a chance…"

"You have a chance, just not with the gang. So long as I'm the leader of it, no one under the age of eighteen is going to join."

"There are guys younger than me!"

"Yes, and they've kept themselves a secret from me. Once I find them, they'll get the same talk as you."

Ryou's lower lip stuck out in a subconscious pout and he crossed his arms over his chest as angrily as possible.

"You'll see, Malik. I'll prove myself."

"In three years, maybe."

"No, I—!"

"Kid, I want you to go home, study hard, graduate from high school, and avoid trouble. Stay out of the gang's business and enjoy what you have now."

"I have a _name_, you know."

Malik smirked and pulled the keys to his motorcycle out of his pocket.

"Yeah, and you'll be lucky if you get me to call you by it. Let's get going."

"Don't bother. I'll walk."

With that, Ryou stormed out of the house and down the street by himself. If he expected Malik to care and go after him, he was mistaken. Malik simply returned to watching infomercials, already forgetting all about Ryou and his naïveté.

* * *

**This fic is a lot different than anything I've ever written. It's a lot more angsty and dark, but I swear I can pull it off:) It's just going to be slow…unless I morph a couple chapters together in the plotline. This chapter is more introductory, again, and just showing a little more of Malik's character, and Ryou's.**

**Also, if you noticed, the first bit was a flashback from Malik's life. I've decided that, instead of actually explaining why Malik is the way he is, I would insert flashbacks every other chapter. It should be pretty interesting, piecing together Malik's history and applying it to his gangster-ness.**

**Thanks for reading and please review!**

**CFB**

**P.S. - Does anyone have an idea for the name of a rival gang? I can't seem to think of any good ones. Help is appreciated. :)**


	3. Read Between the Lines

**Chapter 2: Read Between the Lines**

Malik shuffled to the front of the line and set the bottle of hard liquor down on the counter. The employee eyed him for a moment, Malik carefully avoiding his searching gaze, and asked to see proof of his age. Impatiently, Malik jerked his wallet from his back pocket and flashed his ID at the employee.

"I'm twenty-five. Just ring it up. I'm late."

The employee, looking a little harried by Malik's stubborn attitude, quickly scanned the liquor in and waited for the computer to spit out the price. Malik didn't wait for the younger boy to tell him the cost, he simply slapped a few bills on the counter. Hastily, the employee counted back the left over money and slid it back to Malik warily.

"Have a, uh, good day, sir."

Malik scoffed. "You don't expect me to walk out of here with that in my hand, do you?" he snapped. Seeing that the employee was confused, he rolled his eyes and said, "Put the bottle in a damn bag."

Once the deed was done, Malik snatched it from the employee's hand and stalked towards the doors. He had only just stepped outside when he heard a yell from behind the building. Figuring it was just some thugs, he proceeded to light up a cigarette. The cigarette had barely touched his lips when he heard the unmistakable sound of a gun cocking. A man's voice soon followed after.

"Hey, brat, we heard you run with Ishtar's gang."

'_Damn…what now?' _He thought, dropping the cigarette onto the pavement.

Malik stuffed his free hand in his pocket, his fingers coming into contact with warm steel, and rounded the side of the building. Two men, their body masses more than three times that of Malik's, stood with their backs to him. One had his gun pointed at the unfortunate victim of their bullying, who was completely hidden by their massive size.

"Hey," Malik drawled, his voice dripping with superiority, "you got a problem with me, you come to _me_."

They turned, caught off guard by his sudden appearance, and they separated enough for Malik to see Ryou huddled in a corner with a bloody nose and a slash across his shoulder.

"Ishtar."

"Yeah? You got somethin' to say?"

"Yeah. You've been on our turf and the boss don't like it."

Malik calmly raised one eyebrow in the gangster's direction.

"Tell your boss he can suck it."

It happened so fast that Ryou barely saw it. One of the two rival gangsters made a sudden movement and Malik's hidden hand moved. Another gun cocked and Malik slowly drew his own gun from his pocket and aimed it at the unarmed gangster.

"Much as I would like to keep going, boys, I've got an appointment to keep. We can pick this up later," Malik reasoned, carefully articulating his words so as not to anger the rivals further.

"I don't think so, Ishtar. Your boys have been too brave lately. It's time we put our foot down."

"Feet," Malik corrected snidely.

If the situation hadn't been utterly nerve-wracking and scary as hell, Ryou would have found Malik's comment extremely amusing—maybe even humorous. On the contrary, he found himself squeezing into the corner even more in a vain attempt to make himself seem less noticeable.

Malik had to dodge a sudden attack from the unarmed gangster. He moved out of the way just in time to miss the attack and end up under the other man's gun. For a second, his eyes were wide with alarm. In a flash, it was completely hidden under a mask of cool collectivity. The corners of his mouth quirked up into a smirk.

"You really gonna fire that? That store is filled with people."

He watched with amusement as uncertainty entered the man's countenance. Unfortunately, he never got the chance to push his advantage. The other man had recovered from his missed hit and had rammed his shoulder into Malik's back, sending Malik, obviously the much lighter of the two, flying to the gravel at the gun holder's feet. He winced and thanked whatever deity was looking out for him that the bottle of liquor hadn't cracked with the impact of the fall. An idea struck him, quite literally, in the head. He raised his arm, the one holding the bagged liquor, and swung it upwards. It landed where he'd hoped it to, and he was soon not the only one on the ground.

Ryou, in a sudden burst of courage and stupidity, rushed out from his corner and grabbed Malik by the arm, attempting to pull him up.

"Let go of me, kid. I can get up on my own," Malik growled, shaking free from Ryou's surprisingly strong grasp and pushing himself up.

The crunch of gravel under foot caused them both to turn around. The kamikaze gangster was running full-speed at them, his face contorted and red with rage. Malik grabbed Ryou's shoulders roughly.

"Trust me," he murmured before violently shoving Ryou away and pulling the trigger of his gun.

The force of the bullet lodging into his chest didn't quite put enough opposing force to stop the effects of Newton's Law, and the gangster reeled forward, his eyes widening with the realization of what had happened, before crashing to the ground.

Ryou trembled and picked himself up from the ground.

"Is he…" he gulped, "dead?"

Malik inconsiderately kicked the man's side and nodded.

"Yeah. Pretty much. This one won't be up for a while. Might as well leave one alive to deliver my message to their boss."

He finally noticed Ryou's pale, shivering form and his brow furrowed.

"I told you you didn't belong in the gang. You've never seen a man die before, have you?"

Ryou barely managed to shake his head without feeling as if he were going to vomit or faint. A sigh escaped Malik and he grabbed the younger boy by the arm. Ryou flinched violently and jerked away, cradling his arm protectively. Deciding it was better not to ask, Malik nodded his head towards nearby condominiums.

"Let's get out of here."

Ryou gave a noncommittal nod of his head and forced his legs to move forward after Malik. Malik was still holding the bag, even though the bottle had cracked long beforehand. Little drops of alcohol were trailing behind him and, for a while, Ryou followed them, not having the courage to look up at the gang leader.

He stumbled into Malik's back and Malik bit back a groan of pain.

"Watch it, kid," he snapped.

Ryou looked up at his surroundings and he realized he had no idea where he was. The condominium complex they were in wasn't one of his usual haunts—and for good reason. Unlike a lot of the town, the condos were nice, square, and neighbor-ish—much like Isis' neighborhood.

Malik wandered off behind a fence, motioning for Ryou to stay behind. He returned empty-handed and looked around at all the doors and high, wooden fences.

"What'd they do to you?"

"Not much," answered Ryou grudgingly.

Malik's eyes roamed over the cut on his shoulder and the dried blood on his face.

"Exactly how many gangsters did you run into before the last two? You look like hell, kid. No way you can say they didn't do 'much' to you."

"They only gave me the bloody nose," he mumbled in reply, shamefully looking at his feet.

"And your shoulder?"

"That wasn't them."

Sensing it was a perilous subject that was best left alone, Malik steered the conversation away from Ryou's mysterious cuts and bruises.

"How much did _I_ do?"

"Just a scrape."

"It's enough. Let's get you some first aid."

Ryou's head bobbed up, his mouth open in mild shock. Malik pretended to ignore the expression and headed down the sidewalk to look for a suitable candidate for first aid help. He stepped up to a random door a ways down and rang the doorbell. Ryou caught up to him right as the door opened.

A girl, most likely in her early twenties, with auburn hair that was thrown up into a messy bun on top of her head, stared at them through hazel-green eyes.

"Can I help you?" she asked sweetly, not fully taking in their appearance yet.

First she noticed Ryou, who was obviously the worse of the two, and allowed herself a sympathetic grimace in his direction. Then her gaze swept to Malik and her eyes traveled over his features, from his blonde hair to his chiseled jaw to his bruised knuckles. There was something so undeniably masculine about him that she couldn't quite help the leap her stomach gave.

"Can you help him?" Malik asked, pulling her attention to his face—or rather, his mouth.

She visibly shook herself, which only Ryou really noticed, and flashed Malik her most winning smile.

"Come in, please."

Malik nudged Ryou forward, carefully avoiding the boy's shoulders.

"I'm Shizuka," she said as she led them through the condo to the kitchen. She ushered Ryou to a chair and excused herself from their presence with a short explanation of where she was going.

Once she was out of earshot, Malik turned on Ryou sharply.

"Listen to me. If you wanna be in the gang, you'll have to follow _all_ of my orders. If she asks questions, don't answer them. Just let me talk."

"What if she asks me my name?"

Ryou received a very flat look from Malik and suppressed a grin.

"What kind of question is _that_? Don't be an idiot, all right?"

Ryou scowled and opened his mouth to retaliate, but Shizuka returned with a first aid kit before he could. As she set out all the items she needed, she chatted happily about nothing of importance and didn't mind when they didn't give her more than one or two word answers to her questions. She worked skillfully as she talked, carefully removing the shirt from Ryou to get a clean shot at his wounds. Malik had to force himself to look away from the bruises intruding on the boy's pale skin.

"What's your name, sweetheart?" she asked as she was cleaning the dirt and gravel from his scrapes with an antibacterial wipe.

Ryou sent Malik an inconspicuous look of haughtiness, which Malik promptly disregarded.

"Ryou Bakura."

Shizuka smiled warmly and pressed a large Band-Aid to his skin, effectively covering the scraped skin.

"Well, Ryou Bakura, you are going to live. You'll have a lot of bruises, and the cuts may take a while to heal, but you should be better in no time."

"Thanks," he replied meekly, picking up his dirty shirt from the table.

"Oh, don't wear that thing anymore. I'll lend you one of my brother's shirts. I'm sure he won't mind."

She disappeared from the room again and Malik's eyes followed her out, narrowing with sudden suspicion.

"What?" Ryou asked, wondering what the look could mean.

"She looks familiar," he murmured absently. Shizuka came back with a black t-shirt and Malik quickly averted his gaze, but not before she had caught him staring.

"Here, hon'," she said, handing the shirt to Ryou. "Now it's _your_ turn."

Malik's eyes grew wide and his eyebrows rose in astonishment.

"I'm fine," he retorted hastily.

"You've got a nasty cut on your arm and the way you're holding your posture tells me there's something wrong with your back. Unless you want to lose your arm and be stuck in a wheelchair—"

"My sister can—"

"Sit. Down."

It was hard to tell who was more surprised, Malik or Ryou. Malik certainly wasn't used to being told what to do and Ryou wasn't used to seeing Malik obeying an order. But obey he did and sat down in Ryou's abandoned seat. Shizuka grinned satisfactorily and rolled up Malik's long-sleeve shirt sleeve. True to her word, a three inch-long gash was on the back of his forearm, slowly oozing liquid crimson.

"See?" She asked. "If I had let you go, God knows what could have infected this."

Malik pointedly ignored her and shifted in his seat. She began to clean the wound, her pulse spiking each time his muscle tensed at her touch. She wasn't sure if it was because she was hurting him or if he was just as aware of her as she was aware of him.

"This'll sting," she warned gently, dabbing translucent ointment into the glass wound. Malik didn't so much as flinch and Shizuka was strongly reminded of her brother.

Curious, she asked, "What happened?"

He answered her question with another question.

"Does it matter?"

Shizuka gave him a stern look incredibly reminiscent of Isis and replied, "Yes, in fact, it does. What happened?"

"We just got into a little brawl with some thugs by the liquor store," Malik growled.

Shizuka read the guilt on Ryou's face and frowned.

"Uh-huh. Shirt off. Let me see your back."

Malik shook his head stiffly.

"No. My sister's a chiropractor. She'll look at it when I get home."

She looked to Ryou, wondering if she would be able to tell if Malik was lying or not, but Ryou seemed just as surprised as she was. She took that to mean that it was the truth and she let Malik get up.

"Thanks for your help."

"You're welcome. But, umh, before you leave…what's your name?"

Malik hesitated and answered slowly, "Malik."

Shizuka grabbed a pen and paper and jotted down her name and number.

"Well, Malik, call me and tell me how your back's doing after your sister looks at it. And tell me how your brother's doing, too."

He figured she thought Ryou was his brother, and he didn't really care—in fact, it was even better that she thought they were. Ryou had already given up his last name to the girl; she would obviously attach the same name to Malik's.

He glanced down at the name on the paper and did a double-take.

"Jounouchi? Like Katsuya Jounouchi?"

"He's my brother. Have you heard of him?" she asked quizzically.

Malik could only nod, having lost his ability to speak. Could it be, after waiting for so long, that he had found the answer?

He looked up at her, assessed her appearance quickly, and cracked a small, charming smile. Shizuka melted—exactly as he knew she would.

"I'll definitely call you. What time is best for you?"

"I have classes Monday through Thursday, so probably Friday."

"Okay. Friday it is."

He sent her a wink and a blush rose to her cheeks.

"We'll see ourselves out," he offered graciously, making his tone as smooth and suave as possible.

"O-o-okay," she stuttered, watching them depart with wide eyes.

"Thanks again," Malik called back over his shoulder. He ushered Ryou out and the two of them didn't talk until they'd left the complex and returned to the streets.

"Is your sister really a—?"

"Yes."

"Is that why you wouldn't show her your back?"

"I'd rather not get into it…oh, damn it. I missed it. I'll have to reschedule…"

"Reschedule what?"

Malik didn't answer, only pointed Ryou in the direction of a nearby coffee shop.

"C'mon. We need to talk."

* * *

**All right, that was chapters 2 and 3. At first I only had chapter 2, but it was only two pages long. Ah well, the flashback wasn't important anyways. I'll just stick it in later after a certain someone makes his first appearance.**

**Yes, I _finally_ got Shizuka in here. Go me! She might be in the next chapter—but don't hold me to it. I kind of wrote half of chapter 4 in this too… :) She might be mentioned…slightly…**

**Until next time!**

**CFB**


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